


Call Me Mara

by frog2522



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Coming of Age, Drug Withdrawal, Exy (All For The Game), F/F, Gang Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Recovery, Slow Burn, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29058678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frog2522/pseuds/frog2522
Summary: "Call me Mara, for the almighty has dealt with me bitterly" ...Natalie Shields was arrested for drug use and possession at the age of fifteen and relocated into a foster home under the eye of the law. Between withdrawal treatment, fear of her past, and grief, Natalie is thrown into a life she had not planned.This fic did already exist however I hated how I wrote it so am trying again this time with better planning and editing. Like before please read content warnings for each chapter.
Relationships: Renee Walker & Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Renee Walker & Stephanie Walker, Renee Walker (All For The Game)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: drug withdrawal, mentions of over dose, mentions of transphobia, mentions of physical abuse and gang violence. 
> 
> Again this is simply me rewriting a fic that I have in the past posted, I am also not American so I have no idea what I'm writing about 90% of the time I am so sorry. Chapters will be relatively short (under 3000 words) as I want to try keep to regular updates alongside my university work.

"God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it." 1 Corinthians 10:13

The nausea and blinding headache was the first thing Natalie noticed when she woke. It had not yet been forty-eight hours and she had already thrown up twice from the withdrawal. She groans quietly, turning in the small cot she had been sleeping on and allowed the events of the previous day to bounce around her head. A Youth Rehabilitation Order. If she had the energy she would have laughed. It was useless really. A YRO was just an excuse to ship her off to some foster home and make her take drug tests regularly until they ultimately forget about her and she relapses, ending right back where she started. It was simply a front, the system was too underfunded and corrupt to actually care about her. 

Three years of monthly drug tests, treatment plans, curfew, residency, supervision meetings and education awaited her. Fuck, this was not going to be easy. 

She had been careless, growing too at ease from the comfort of not being alone. Well she fucked that up pretty fast. The police had found her high in an abandoned building she had been squatting in, alongside the body of Julie who had apparently overdosed. The thought made her stomach churn again. Julie had been 16 but had only been in the gang for the last two years after she had had enough of her transphobic parents. She had been easy to pick up, sleeping nights in the doorways of churches and caught shoplifting by local authorities one too many times to make it on her own. Shit. She had deserved better. In another, fairer life a family would have picked her up instead of the gang, taken her under their wing and made sure she could get through the queerphobic legal systems unscratched. In a fairer life Natalie would not be where she was right then.

A knock finally tapped at the door and she had the intense urge to either stab the person or throw up as they pushed the door open, flooding the small room with light.  
“Natalie? Your foster mother will be here in an hour, why don’t you take a shower?” The court had shoved her into the temporary emergency care of a drug rehabilitation nurse with fostering experience. Natalie tried to move and tell the nurse to fuck off but her muscles spasmed again and she fell off the cot, curling up in pain. She breathed harshly through clenched teeth until the episode was over, barely able to make out the sound of the nurse trying to soothe her.When she managed a full breath and could see through the black spots in her vision, she pushed herself up to her legs. Natalie was exhausted and let the nurse guide her to the bathroom, sitting in the tub as she was bathed under a spray of lukewarm water. 

It took two attempts for Natalie to dress herself. The first time she had thrown up from the motion, ruining her only pair of jeans. The second was a mismatched outfit of second hand clothes several sizes too big. The shirt hung to her knees and tented out under her arms and the skirt was held up after rolling the waist and securing with a belt the nurse had found in the back of a closet. This time when she threw up, she had managed to reach the toilet in time and the nurse forced a glass of water down her throat afterwards. The court had assigned her a drug treatment provider in the new town she was moving to but without anything to sustain her intake, withdrawal had started early under the supervision of the nurse. 

Natalie was miserable, her head was still pounding but she had managed to stomach a few pieces of fruit without it coming straight back up. It wouldn't last but it was a slight improvement. The woman she was to move with sat at the nurse’s kitchen table laughing at a joke the nurse had said. Natalie slouched in her chair trying to focus on a small crack in the paint on the wall to stop the room from spinning. She was to be put under the care of a Stephanie Walker, a journalist in her mid-thirties with specialised training, the details about such training weren’t an interest and Natalie had ignored half of what the social worker had been saying. 

“-talie? Natalie?” Stephanie Walker, smiled at her with an open palm. Her hands were large and rough but she took the hand cautiously, too tired to pick up a fuss. “I think we should head off, have you got everything? It’s not too far of a journey, don’t worry.” Natalie didn’t reply but stood when she felt a tug at her hand, leaning against Stephanie for balance. “Easy, you’re okay. We’ll get you home and to bed honey, mind the step. Well done.” It was all a distant buzz, she was too focused on not face planting on the gravel driveway. Stephanie helped her strap in the seatbelt and she quickly forced herself to close her eyes, head lulling to the side. 

Stephanie had to pull over a total of six times so Natallie could throw up before they reached her house. It was predictably modest, a simple red brick townhouse with tall windows and a fairly quiet neighbourhood. Not much space was needed for just the two of them, but Stephanie appeared to have the paycheck to have as much space as she wanted. Every door had a crucifix nailed above it, every room was filled with an assortment of mismatched furniture and bright green plants. It was modern, blonde woods and floral curtains, the smell of cleaning disinfectant and washing powder. It was not remarkable but clearly lived in. The walls lacked the photographs you would expect from such a space, there was a single mirror in the entrance hall and a reprint of a landscape painting in the living room that clashed with the couch cushions but beyond that it appeared to be cut out of a magazine.

Stephanie helped Natalie up the stairs and into a bedroom with painted dark blue walls that were a weird contrast to the damask wallpaper in the hallway. She lay down in the bed and sighed at the comfort of it, the pillows were new and everything smelt of clean linen and lavender. Stephanie kneeled next to the bed and brushed the sweat-stuck hair from Natalie’s face with a small smile. “You’re safe now honey, I’ll stay with you until you’ve recovered. Now get some sleep, you’ll need the rest.” 

Natalie drifted in and out of consciousness and her mind haunted her with flashes. Knives, a man’s hands, blood, Julie, Julie, Julie … when she turned, Stephanie was usually there working quickly at some printed edits and would come soothe Natalie every time she started crying from pain or terrors. The cravings were driving her insane, she could barely keep food down and now her body was fighting against itself. Her bone ached, her head pounded and she barely acknowledged the mutter prays whispered by Stephanie which would usually make her scoff. 

In clearer moments she began to piece together images. Dark hair hung around her face in curtains, eyes down turned and starting to wrinkle. A forehead larger than what was deemed attractive, and a strong chin and jaw. Stephanie was the personification of business casual khakis. A limbo between city business and middle aged suburban. Natalie was half convinced Stephanie was a pipe dream, that she would eventually wake up next to Julie, smile with her hand in dark strands of hair and lingering kisses. She wanted to close her eyes and only wake up when she was sure her life would return as it was before. She wanted to go back to acid washed jeans and cheap vanilla perfumes, to cigarettes in graveyards and cheap liquor to keep the cold out. This was all so fucked up.

After two more days of this she was carefully dragged out of bed to see a medical professional to provide a treatment plan. The woman sat in Natalie’s room and took her blood pressure, and blood and urine samples before handing Stephanie several leaflets labelled ‘diet plans’ and ‘relapse avoidance strategies’. It was a load of bullshit about mental health and a balanced lifestyle, she would need to find a sponsor at some point or a mentor or whatever other shit to help build her ‘support system’. Safety net metaphors and photographs of people smiling. Jesus fucking Christ did people actually believe in this? 

The woman stared at Natalie before sighing and pressing a hand to her cheek, “you’re doing pretty well, I’m leaving my number and professional contact details with your mom and I’ll be visiting every week to check up on you. You’ll also have to attend group and one-to-one therapy sessions. The worst will be over in six weeks, after that it’s just knowing how to deal with lapses and relapses.” Natalie frowned but didn’t bother correcting that Stephanie wasn’t her mother. It wasn’t worth the effort. She nodded and Stephanie thanked the woman, following her outside after squeezing Natalie’s shoulder with a soft smile. Natalie was unnerved by the smile, it seemed to be permanently on Stephanie’s face, like she painted it on every morning or had it tattooed. She wanted - needed, to see the smile drop. There had to be a limit to Stephanie’s supposedly never ending patience, a boundary to push where her pleasant demeanour shattered into the violent and angry core at the centre of every adult. She had seen too many times, a smile turning into a spiteful sneer, a caress turning heavy and controlling within a moment. 

Her body shook again and if she had the energy she would have screamed in frustration. She wanted to get high, hated how her body felt wrong and her brain was too loud. She could barely recognise her own hands and all Stephanie did was watch her with the same fucking smile on her fucking face. Did she enjoy how helpless Natalie is? Was she just biding her time? Natalie tried and failed to stand, knocking her head hard on the floor. The world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: panic attacks, PTSD flashbacks, general mental health stuff and chruchy things.

“As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.” Isaiah 66:13 

The clinic smelled of disinfectant and misery. Natalie was sure she looked like shit dressed in plain, cheap clothes Stephanie had picked up from God knows where. Her hair was greasy, hanging in clumps down to her chest and her roots were desperately in need of a touch-up. The days had blurred together in one hazy mesh of pain and blackouts, but at least she was eating more than she had. She watched the clock behind the receptionist tick at an agonising pace. Every small noise sent a jolt of frustration through her. A guy was slumped in the corner of the room, nails tapping against the wooden armrest, the receptionist clacked away at a keyboard, Stephanie smiled and clicked her tongue as she flipped plastic pages of a beauty magazine. It grated on every nerve, Natalie’s knuckles were right from her grip on the chair and her jaw clenched uncomfortably. Why couldn’t the world just shut up for one Goddamn second? 

“Miss Shields?” Oh thank God. Natalie stood and Stephanie shot her an encouraging smile. Jesus does this woman have any emotions? She rolled her eyes and followed the shrink into her office, sitting on the sunken armchair and huffing silently. “It's lovely to meet you Natalie. My name is Louise, we’re here to talk about your recovery and your mental health. This session will just be about what sort of therapy you may need and what communication I will have to perform as part of your YRO to your social worker. How does that sound?”   
Natalie shrugged. “Fine.”   
“Good, let's get started then.” 

When the session ended, Natalie felt exhausted. They had barely scratched the surface of Natalie’s issues but just the thought was going to push her beyond what she was willing to show anyone. Stephanie did not ask questions when she saw Natalie’s face. Instead, she helped Natalie into her coat and helped her up the stairs when they got home, brushing the now sweat covered strands of hair out of Natalie’s face with a soft smile.   
“I know it was tough but I am proud of you for going through with it. Therapy won’t be easy.” Natalie scoffed and bought the duvet closer to her chin and closed her eyes in relief.  
“Nothing’s ever easy.” 

It was three am by the time she regained consciousness. Her room was dark and Stephanie was nowhere in sight. Natalie moves slowly, her limbs and brain sluggish but her stomach too empty to throw up anything more. She stands, her legs shaking from the weight of her and pulls on the beaten up sneakers left under her bed, carefully moving towards her bedroom door. She stops, leaning against the door frame to wait for her eyes to adjust, and listen to the sounds in the house. A clock’s ticks were muffled from downstairs and Stephanie’s quiet snores came from the room next to her’s. Besides that complete silence. 

Natalie sighed quietly to herself and began to move again, using the walls to guide and support her towards the stairs. She clung to the railing as she began to slowly walk, step by step by step by - the floor groaned beneath her weight and she froze. Waiting. Nothing. Another step. Pause. Her heart was in her throat. Her cheeks were flushed with the pounding of blood in her ears. Stephanie snored quietly again and Natalie forced her body to relax and made it down to the bottom of the staircase, her hands shaking and adrenaline high. She didn’t have any money, she would walk if she had to. Sleep in bus shelters and in doorways. 

The front door was locked. Shit. Of course it was locked, how could she be so stupid? She began to shift through the keys as quietly and quickly as she could but nausea began to eat through her again and she whined, clutching at the wall, pushing the bowl of keys to the floor with a clatter as tears blurred her vision. No. Shit, please no. She was so close. 

Natalie crawled towards the pile of keys and ran her hand through them until she found one that seemed right, crawling back towards the door. Stephanie had turned on the landing light and started running down the stairs. Natalie was sobbing, face pressed against the door as the key cut into her skin. No. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here. 

She felt a hand on her back and sobbed louder. Stephanie did not question the keys or Natalie’s footwear, but crouched down beside her, hand rubbing circles on her back. “Hey, hey it’s okay. It’ll pass, all things do. I’ve got you, you have nothing to worry about. You’re safe.” She wished she could believe it, just this once she wished that was true. 

Stephanie wasn’t stupid. She kept a closer eye on Natalie since that night, sometimes sleeping on the floor of Natalie’s room and forcing her to sit on the couch and watch the news each evening. Natalie resented her for this, she couldn’t escape if she was constantly being watched. She spent day after day watching mindless television as Staphanie typed at the computer, occasionally she had begun completing sudoku and puzzles in old newspapers out of sheer boredom of it all. Her hands itched. She wanted her knives, she wanted to punch something, to run, to get high, to drink and forget about everything. Stephanie paused her typing to turn and give Natalie a soft smile, “would you like to come to church with me tomorrow.”   
Natalie blinked. She hadn’t been keeping track of the days. Three weeks clean, almost a month. She opened her mouth, ready to tell Stephanie to suck a - but stopped. Church means outside. Outside means freedom. She thought about it, weighing pros and cons. She knows Stephanie will stay home with her if she chooses not to go, and she was getting strong enough to help out around the house now that meals were settling more often than not. Church may also mean Stephanie will begin to put her guard down.   
“Yes,” Natalie matched Stephanie’s calm smile but saw something different spark in Stephanie’s eyes. 

Church was meant to mean freedom, but it wasn’t what Natalie expected. She had watched enough tv and snuck into enough movie theatres to know the usual drawl of sin, redemption and hell. She was given a dress to borrow, Stephanie brushing and braiding her fading hair down her back. She had expected the stuffy, tight upper-lipped ‘good christian folk’ stereotype. She didn’t expect cake. The lady handing it out took one look at how thin and exhausted Natalie looked but showed no pity in her eyes, instead pressed a piece of carrot cake wrapped in a napkin to her hand and said “God bless you child, how’s Stephanie keeping you, ay? You must be Natalie, help yourself to any of the food or drinks provided. Are you staying with us adults or going to hide with the youth where we pretend not to see you?” The woman laughed, as did a mother holding a small child to her hip. 

“I remember when I used to do that Pam, don’t tell the reverend but we used to sneak swigs of the communion wine,” the mother winked and Pam laughed again, patting Natalie on the shoulder. Natalie was frozen in place unsure how to process what just happened. If she was thinking logically, sneaking off with the other ‘youths’ was an easy escape, but her brain was running circles. The casual show of affection would usually make her flinch away but the women were laughing and had quickly moved on to talk to Stephanie about her recent article. After grabbing a coffee, Stephanie led Natalie to a pew near the back and passed her a bible and book of hymns, rubbing soothingly at her shoulder. 

“You doing alright honey? Tell me if you get overwhelmed we can leave at any time.” Natalie wanted to leave now but bit her tongue in stubbornness. Stephanie had seen Natalie in too much of a vulnerable state the week before, she would not allow that to happen again. The sermon was as Natalie expected it to be: dry, long and dull. She stood up when everyone else did, kneeled when it was expected of her and the rest of the time tapped idly at her knee or the cover of the bible to calm her nerves. 

There was no mention of sin. No reminder of her inevitable damnation nor echoes of ‘man shall not lay with mankind-’ that she had heard shouted down the street at her and Julie. Sinful, disgrace, dirty, shit. Her breathing quickened. Shit. Stephanie placed a hand, barely brushing Natalie’s shoulder as her body shook worse. She couldn’t be here, she shouldn’t feel this emptiness as the reminder of Julie. Her chest felt like it was being teared apart, everything was too much. Julie was sixteen. Julie died at sixteen and it was Natalie’s fault, if Natalie hadn’t got high with her that day she would still be alive and Natalie wouldn’t be sat in some fucking church as if everyone here didn’t think everything she did was the devil’s fucking work. She couldn’t focus on anything else, just the image of Julie’s body as the police and paramedics broke into the house, the sound of one of the bottles breaking and the needles scattering against the wooden floor. Her stomach churned unpleasantly as she gripped hard against her knees, nails tearing at the skin. 

She flinched as Stephanie roughly pulled her to her feet, but carefully directed Natalie out of the door with a hand pressed into the small of her back. Once they were outside Natalie grabbed the wall and choked on her breath. Stephanie bent over so her face was close enough to Natalie that only she could hear the quiet words. “You’re safe, it’s okay. Can you look at me?” Natalie forced herself to drag her gaze towards the woman who had a soft smile still on her lips. Damn that fucking smile. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Natalie shook her head as she began spluttering again with a wheezing cough. That didn’t sound promising. She took a deep breath hoping to hold whatever was left in her stomach from that morning down. She’d hate to waste free food. “Okay honey, we’ll try something else. I’m going to help ground you, but you need to do what I say, alright? Let’s get you seated, head between your legs. Now can you tell me what your favourite food is?” 

That question caught Natalie off guard. Favourite food? A life in a gang didn’t really give much room for worthless opinions. She had a favourite knife, it was small but sturdy enough to wedge itself neatly between someone’s ribs. She supposed she had a favourite house, one of the homes the gang had been cuckooing in. The resident had owed one of the major dealers money and was more than willing to let them use his house after a gun and several knives were pointed at his throat. But food … she hesitated before answering, “lemon meringue pie.” 

Natalie watched Stephanie grin through her eyelashes, as she squatted down on her toes in front of Natalie and brushed a dark strand of curly hair out of her face. “Good choice, I’ll try to get some tomorrow for us to enjoy. We’ll also have lots for your birthday. Now, can you tell me your favourite smell?” 

“Lavender and vanilla perfume.” Natalie surprised herself with how honest that answer was. Lavender, like the detergent used for all the sheets in Stephanie’s house, and the cheap vanilla perfume Natalie and Julia used to steal from drugstores. She smiled into her knees, knowing Stephanie couldn’t see it. The honesty felt strangely comforting. 

“Lavender is my favourite too. We can buy you some vanilla perfume if you want as well.” 

Natalie did want it. “No,” but she was stubborn and pissed off and would not form an attachment to an adult who would no doubt throw her away as soona s she found out what Natalie was, if she wasn’t planning on ditching Natalie anyway. The gang was unpleasant, the memory of hands and forced kisses and knives cutting sharp into her thighs would forever haunt her, but it was safer than being alone. It is harder to kill a whole pack than a stray dog, alone you are an easy target. 

“Alright honey, we can pick you up some new clothes next weekend too. If your next few appointments go okay and you’ve settled into therapy we’ll see about enrolling you in school You’ve started to regain the colour in your cheeks.” Natalie shrugged, not lifting her head. Her thoughts were spiralling too fast for her to latch on, so she had chosen anger. It was the safest option. The guilt, panic, hope all would lead to a Greek tragic hero worthy downfall. She had to hold onto something permanent, if only to sustain her fight to live a little longer. 

After another half an hour of Stephanie asking pointless questions and Natalie doing her best to stay pissed off at the woman, Stephanie finally stood and helped Natalie to her feet and into the car. They were silent on the ride back to the house, and silent as they both sat on instinct in the living room. It felt off, having a somewhat routine centred around another person’s life and Natalie had decided to push having a crisis over that away. She could have a panic attack about it later when there weren't more important things to be scared about. Things like fucking school. Shit. She looked at Stephanie who smiled back at her. Well, now was as good a time as any to push back. 

“I want to learn to fight.” 

Stephanie’s face stretches into a knife-sharp grin, “then learn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cukooing - gangs taking over a resident’s (often vulnerable person) home, often to house activity etc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group therapy, mentions of drug-use, very brief mentions of SH and OCD (just mentions the words once).

“He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayers.” Psalms 102:17

Group therapy, as it turns out, is a lot of sitting around and listening. Two licenced counsellors and CBT specialised led the group and nodded sympathetically when appropriate. They skirt over any major issues such as gang victims, child abuse and the rising number of self harm cases in their age group and instead focused on school. What school had to do with this was beyond Natalie’s comprehension. How was everyone finding exams? Were they socialising outside of school hours? What are their plans for summer break? Natalie was close to clawing her eyes out in boredom. Jesus fucking Christ, everyone here looked uncomfortable. One girl started crying halfway through when she was prompted to talk about moving schools. If Natalie had the patience she would pity the girl. She had bruises on her hands and kept scratching at her arm. She was clearly on something by the way her hands shook and pupils were blown the size of dinner plates. Instead of pity, Natalie felt a sick twist of both guilt and jealousy. She wanted to be as far away from the girl as possible. Instead she distracted herself by flicking through her ‘workbook’. Presentation skill, conversation skills, anger management, grounding techniques. There was a colouring page at the back. Huh. She ran a finger over the lines of the geometric shapes, harsh corners that cross crossed over each other. 

The group pauses for a break after an hour and Natalie quickly stands to work out the muscle pain in her back by stretching. A girl next to her laughs and Natalie shoots her a look. “No, no, carry on. What are you here for then. You don’t look like one of the usual heartbroken girls.” 

“None of your fucking business is what.” The girl laughs again as Natalie stalks towards the table holding snacks and drinks. Fuck yes cake, she stuff a piece in her mouth quickly, and grabs another when no is looking to hide in her borrowed coat’s pocket. 

“I saw that-” Natalie jumped. It was the same fucking girl. She was pretty and Natalie felt herself start the blush as she stared at the dark circles under the girl’s eyes, the scar at the corner of her mouth, the kippah secured to the back of her head. The girl quirks a thick eyebrow up and winks, “I’m not a snitch. I’m Ruth. You?” 

“What?” 

“Your name? What is it?” 

“Natalie … you’re not a guy …” Natalie motions to the top of her head in confusion and Ruth laughs. 

“Bold assumption but yeah I guess. I like kippahs, what’s it to you?” She smirks and pops a piece of cake in her mouth, grabbing Natalie’s coat sleeve and moving them back to their seats. “Your name,it don’t suit you. Bet you have a nickname or something cool like that. You look all normal like though. Hm, I’ll tell you why I’m here if you tell me? Truth for truth?” Natalie sighs, there was still fifteen minutes of the break left and if she had to be here for another three months might as well make somewhat of an ally.

She shrugs, “fine, sure.” 

Ruth grins and scrapes her chair against the laminated floor purposely loudly so she could sit closer to Natalie. She leans in and whispers, “vandalism, scratched and painted rainbows throughout the school last June. Some lady scream that its gay propaganda or some bullshit. Oh and probably because I have OCD, but like how’s listening to miserable teenagers meant to help with that.? She sits back with a casual shrug and waits for Natalie to speak. 

“Addiction.” 

“Well that’s boring. What was it, painkillers or something?” Natalie scowls and pushes Ruth’s grinning face away gently. “Hey, hey I’m just saying it’s not like you killed a guy you know? We had a guy in a few weeks ago, right? Absolute case, tried to strangle another guy for saying something I don’t remember, but that was the most entertaining thing to happen here since a girl went into labour part way through a session and an ambulance had to be called you know?” Natalie listened with a tight smile, trying to ignore the girl’s increasingly atrocious fashion. She sat with her dark hair loose over her shoulders, ripped tights, stained pink dress that looked like they belonged to an elementary school kid, and bottle caps held onto her clothes with cents. Her boots were scuffed and Natalie was convinced her gloves were most likely socks that had been attacked by a pair of scissors and a social-anarchist attitude. 

They sat like that for the next hour of the session, Ruth’s chair almost touching Natalie’s so Ruth could lean over and whisper comments that made it increasingly difficult for Natalie to keep a neutral expression and not laugh. After the excruciatingly long session ended, Ruth stayed to keep talking at Natalie as they grabbed the leftover food and made their way out of the hall doors. “I’m just saying that if I have to hear Amy Andrews crying one more time about her ex boyfriend I may commit a crime, like yes I know he died whatever but some of us want to go home on time.” Natalie’s lips twitched wider which only encouraged Ruth, “see? Exactly my point. Like sure this is free therapy technically but I’m required to attend, you too by the look of murder in your eyes every time you looked at the clock - ah don’t try tell me I’m wrong I saw you.” They both stopped a few steps away from Stephanie’s smiling figure. Ruth raised an eyebrow at Natalie’s slight frown. “Relative?”  
“Foster mother.” Ruth nodded and pushed past Natalie, sticking her hand out for Stephanie to shake.   
“Nice to meet you ma’am, I’m Ruth.”  
“Stephanie Walker,” Stephanie applied her usual mask of a gentle smile but clasped Ruth’s hand in a firm shake before releasing and waving at Natalie. “How was the group, you ready to go?” Natalie shrugged with indifference and Stephanie’s smile widened. Ruth laughed, punching Natalie’s arm gently before turning to walk away. Natalie’s eyes followed her lanky figure before she forced them to snap forward with a slight blush and walked with Stephanie back to the house. 

She let her foster mother talk idly about her work meetings and how she was proud of Natalie for making a friend so quickly. It felt off, some broken part of her twisted painfully at that. It was not that she was ungrateful for Stephanie’s calm presence and gentle words, but that they tried to break down the walls covering the part of her who craved to feel this affection. She wanted to have parental support, desperately needed to feel like she had a family and friends and deserved happiness. But if she let herself hope the delusion will shatter leaving her as defenceless as she was at ten years old. 

The house felt wrong when they returned. The halls were too long, the ceiling too low and everything suffocatingly perfect. She wanted to belong. She wanted to run. Natalie retreated to her room, locking the door and pushing her back against the wood. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking as she finally let tears fall silently down her cheek and stared at the window. She could push the denial at the forefront of everything and pretend the crashing reality was an effect of the withdrawal. She would never admit that it was a release she needed and how free she felt after letting go of that pain. She couldn’t remember when this room had started to feel like her’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the shortest chapter I promise. I have had to take a break from writing meaning updates will be extremely slow whilst my health and university work take priority. It will return to the (atleast) 1 chapter ever fortnight asap. I've only been to a few in-person group therapy sessions, the last group I was in was online because of covid however I hope I did the scene justice either way, I was just excited to introduce Ruth


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for PTSD, panic attacks and very brief suggestion of sh

“Therefore, with minds that are alert and fully sober, set your hope on the grace to be brought to you when Jesus Christ is revealed at his coming.” 1 Peter 1:13 

Negative automatic thoughts. The group therapist had repeatedly explained that just because your thoughts were negative or disturbing did not make them true. It was the only thing Natalie had taken from the over two hour long session and it repeated inside her head as she stood in the small hall of teenagers. Just because you think it, doesn’t make it true. Just because you think it, doesn’t make it true. Just because - she follows the lead of the instructor, moving with the momentum of her punch into the air. Again, just because you think it, doesn’t make it ture. This time a block to protect the top of the head, moving forward with the force, move your leg back, keep your arms up. It was nothing like street fighting with a knife which was bloody and desperate and uncoordinated. This was learning to get the most out of every move, to keep your shoulder square, to keep your balance and know when an offensive or defensive move is best. It felt strange to be without her blades, hand-to-hand was a lot more square than the sharp, swift downward cuts of knife fights. With a knife, she had gotten used to quick shoulder rotations, with punching the power felt more from her chest. Every kick came from her whole pelvis and lower back and not her knee or hip joint.

Natalie was panting, gulping down water and wiping the sweat from her eyes. She didn’t know how to feel about this. On the one hand it was a necessity, an inevitably that she would need this in the future if she wanted to survive. A cold, twisted part of her enjoyed the power. She liked the control, the force and the possibility for destruction. She had told herself growing up that violence was only a necessity and not something she could enjoy. That enjoying harm would make her as bad as the men whose hands grabbed and groped at young girls’, as women who drugged sodas and sold your worth to strangers. 

She walked back towards the group, let the instructor help her bind her hands and was faced against another girl her age. She was taller and a lot broader than Natalie, her black hijab tucked into her clothes and hands up in position. Natalie stared at the girl’s chest, drawing her fists up to her face and waited for the instructor’s go ahead, watching for every muscle tense as the girl moved. Natalie saw the shift in hips and blocked the kick quickly, wincing as her badly formed block shocked up her arm. The girl stopped quickly.   
“Shi- I’m so sorry are you alright? I didn’t hit you too hard did I?” Natalie shook her arm and rolled her shoulder. It would be a bruise at most, a large one but nothing she hasn’t dealt with before.   
“I’m fine. Keep going.”   
Natalie did not win that fight, which was expected but shouldn’t have been as big as a disappointment as it felt. The girl hadn’t even gone too hard on her, throwing the odd kick and sharp jap to the jaw until the timer beeped and the next pair went up to spar. Natalie sat on the cold hall floor and rested her head against the whitewashed walls, closing her eyes against the headache and dizziness spotting her vision black. She had been both sober and clean for over two months but the itch of need clung to the edges of her consciousness. She felt her stomach turn unpleasantly and breathed harshly through her teeth before opening her eyes to a pair of legs standing in front of her.   
“I’m Hadiyah, by the way. You have a strong punch.” Natalie looked up towards Hadiyah’s face and realised how deep her voice was. Natalie filed that away for later but took Hadiyah’s hand.   
“Natalie. Your kicks are powerful too.” Hadiyah grinned.   
“Yeah, exy forces you to do a lot of running. Hey, what school do you go to?”   
“I don’t, just moved to the area.”   
“Aw, well you should join your highschool’s exy team. Seriously with your wide shoulders and quick footwork you’d be amazing. I swear you move so fucking fast man, hey let me give you my number and maybe we can spar or play together. I’ll teach you some things and like to have milk shake afterwards.”   
“Oh .. okay sure. Thank you. Are there a lot of halal diners and coffee shops around here?”   
“No but milkshakes and ice cream are a safe bet if I’m going to eat out. Okay that’s my number,” she passes Natalie a piece of paper, “it was nice meeting you Natalie. I’ll see you around.”   
“Yeah, it was really nice meeting you too.” It was genuine, which Natalie wasn’t expecting. It was nice to meet Hadiyah. She had an infectiously bright smile and an impressive kick. Natalie smiled and tucked the paper into her pocket. This felt good. She held onto the feeling, placing it deep inside her, somewhere safe and accessible. She had a feeling she’d need it later. 

She walked out of the hall to find Stephanie’s car and slide into the passenger’s seat. Stephanie beamed at her and handed her a smoothie before reversing out of the parking spot.  
“How was the lesson?”   
“It was good, a girl I sparred with gave me her number so we could have milkshakes. She’s on an exy team.” Stephanie’s smile grew wider and she placed a hand on Natalie’s shoulder, squeezing gently. It was a moment later when Natalie realised that was the most she had ever said to Stephanie, that the smile Hadiyah had given her still stretched across her lips even if it had grown smaller and more modest.   
“That’s great, I’m really proud of you. Are you interested in exy, we can look to see if your school has a team?”   
Natalie shrugs and takes a large sip from the smoothie, “Hadiyah said I should join a team. Something about my quick footwork. I’ll think about it.” It was not a definite answer, but it was enough to elicit another small squeeze from Stephanie before she moved her hand back to the steering wheel. Natalie focussed her attention on her drink and cursed silently at the back of her mind. She shouldn’t have enjoyed sparring as much as she did, and definitely shouldn’t grow an attachment to Hadiyah’s friendliness or Stephanie’s affection. SHe pushed that thought away, she would have a crisis later in private. 

Natalie sat at a pulled up dining chair next to Stephanie’s desk as she typed away and talked about the highschool leaflets in Natalie’s hands. Stephanie had gone out, leaving Natalie home alone for the first time, returning an hour later with lemon meringue and a handful of exy information. She squinted at the blurry photographs and cheap graphics and felt relief that the sport was not split by sex. It was violent, some bastard child of american football and lacrosse with full body checks and more padding than she had seen on an ice hockey player. She traced the outline of the court and every player position before zoning back into Stephanie’s talking.   
“I think it’ll be good for you, I’m so proud of you for starting to talk to your peers already. We can talk to your school’s coach after summer and find the best equipment for you to start, maybe even watch a few games together before that. Sound good?”   
“Yes.” Natalie sat in silence for a moment, not meeting Stephanie’s eyes before muttering, “thank you.” She felt Stephanie stiffen slightly, then quickly compose herself and placed a hand on Natalie’s knee, making sure she could see and pull away from the movement if she wished.   
“You never need to thank me, I care about you and will do everything in power to give you the best life you possibly could have.” Her smile is gentle but something sad sits in Stephanie’s eyes and shoulders that confuses Natalie. She couldn’t even form words, everything was too overwhelming so she opted for a simple nod and matched Stephanie’s smile instinctively. 

She pushed away the hope, holding onto the anger by the skin of her fingertips. She wanted to cry. She wanted Stephanie to hug her and tell her she would be happy in the future, but the crucifixes on the doorways suddenly flashed into Natalie’s mind. Someone as righteous and gentle as Stephanie could never love someone as sinful as Natalie. No matter how forgiving they are or how patient. Stephanie can care about Natalie all she likes, but it was inevitable for that care to run short and for her to never be good enough to be loved. People like Natalie did not get redemption. They would not be reborn in the land of the Lord or live happily with the ones they loved. She had hurt too many others, killed without a second thought. She was not like the girls she would see on Sundays, nor the boys who would one day be their husbands. She had to be content with what shitty resemblance of a life she had managed to scrape up. 

Natalie barely slept that night, laying under a single blanket as the heat of summer began to roll in. The late June heat waves and the promise of a hotter July hung in the humid air and sweat stuck down Natalie’s long hair. Her thoughts barely stayed consistent enough for her to make a conscious decision but something lurked at the back of her mind. She curled onto her side and let tears fall down her cheek in the dark. She wouldn’t let herself become a victim again. 

Natalie tried hard to forget in the moments her brain was left to wander. The tactile memories were the worst with the flashback, they made her feel claustrophobic and disoriented. Stephanie sat on the edge of her bed, stroking fingers through Natalie’s sweat-greased hair. She had started to expect and find comfort in Stephanie’s touches, she had never known this kind of maternal affection. At first it felt weird and out of place but as the weeks had past it had simply become a part of Natalie’s life. She curled into herself more with a sob, she didn’t understand why she couldn’t control her emotions. They seemed to leak out of every pore, every inch of skin peeling away and forcing out this vulnerability she had kept caged for so long. Stephanie assured her over and over that this was normal, that it was a symptom of her trauma and a simple step in processing it. The shame of everything that had happened to her sat heavily in the pit of her stomach and seemed to spread up to choke her throat with every wheezed breath.

The worst part of recovery was the memories. Of sitting in planned parenthood at thirteen years old, of older girls buying you pregnancy tests and waiting for the STD tests to come back. The fear of HIV and AIDS hanging in the air, the nurses always tutting that you did something wrong by coming to them so late, or that you were too young or too irresponsible. The memories of the aftermath were almost as bad as the event. Blood soaked clothes, men’s eyes boring into you and the other girls screaming at you if they scared away customers or kicked up enough fuss to get the police’s notice. Natalie hasn’t worn anything revealing in public since she was very young, choosing instead to make her body as unappealing as possible. She would wear second hand dresses, thick sweatpants and jackets that hid her feminine body under a tent of fabric. In summer she would make sure to never go anywhere without her knives, sweating under her layers and stubbornly refusing to change into something cooler. 

The drugs were worse. If you were not high you watched your friends slowly die from them, their bodies growing weak and the kids being forced to shave their heads to stop them from being caught. Those who talked about drugs and their adverse effects tended to be those who had lost their friends to overdose. It was hard to imagine a life where she was raw with the feeling of Julie’s death ripping her heart into pieces. The shit adicts did to survive the cravings would make anyone’s stomach turn, but it was just how life was. Her standards for survival were so low, and it was an achievement for her to even be able to acknowledge and consider these low standards at all. Watching people flip coins before breaking their friend’s arm to get their hands on medical opioids, selling their hair and not eating for days just to afford a short high from contaminated needles until the diseases from them slowly decayed their health and they were found dead, face first in a gutter by the neighbourhood children. Natalie had lost so many people and only now, sober and distant, could she really even process that. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. 

The fear of everything would not shift. She had grown up seeing the adverts on televisions and on the walls of clinics. She knew healthcare treatments were evolving, antiviral medication was becoming more readily available and she had seen older people house together to support each other after diagnosis. She should have been stronger, should have put a knife between his ribs before he could lay his hands on her, should have been brave enough to take the test. It had been too long, she couldn’t tell if the sore throat and high fever was from a disease or withdrawal and the thought made her stomach churn uneasily. She was just a kid. She shouldn’t have had to defend herself to begin with. She shouldn’t have to worry if she was dying, if Julie would have died with or without the overdose. 

Stephanie helped move Natalie carefully, pressing a cold glass to her lips. Natalie couldn’t remember when or if Stephanie had left to fetch the glass, she had not felt the weight of the bed shift at all. Her eyes are blank and glassy, barely registering what was going on until she felt her mouth fill with water and the thirst hit her. After Natalie pushed Stephanie’s hand away and moved herself into a more comfortable position Stephanie spoke,   
“How are you feeling?”   
“Shit.”   
“Understandable. Do you think you can move on your own? I’ve removed all the razors from the bathroom but I still want you to keep the bathroom door unlocked. You should get yourself a bath whilst I change your sheets, okay?” She was too tired to give much of a response or argue about the door so nodded, letting Stephanie help her to her feet and walked to the bathroom, running a hand through the grease-slick hair. 

Natalie sighed running her fingers over the scars left by needles and the discoloured veins that still showed through her skin. Her hands moved to the small knife scars on her arms and the one on her stomach, all shallow and pale but still left slightly raised skin from the slashes. She was lucky to be alive but it never felt like luck. Life just felt like endless hours of punishment for simply existing and without the high to push away these thoughts, they seemed to take permanent residence inside her head. Her life was not difficult with Stephanie, it was good. It was so good that the guilt ate at her. She didn’t have a reason to feel like shit, she had it better than the rest of the lot who were caught by cops, given a good place to stay, a roof over her head and warm meals as well as things beyond the bare minimum. Despite this, nothing felt real. It was like living in a ticking time bomb, Natalie was waiting for the day it ended suddenly. It was inevitable. Nothing this safe could last. 

Natalie quickly got out of the shower and changed into the clothes Stephanie had left out for her. She stood in front of the mirror and winced. She wished she could remember her parents’ faces. She wanted to see if she had her mother’s chin, her father frown. Her mom had said she looked like her father, it was one of the few memories she had of her mom. Natalie was fairly convinced it was a race thing, her father had been Korean but had not stuck around long enough for her to learn anything about his culture. She did not learn the language or the food, knew nothing about Korea’s history or what city her family had come from. She could not hate him anymore than she resented her mom for dying or Stephanie for taking her under her wing. Natalie pulled a comb through her hair, the purple dye was barely visible anymore and her roots had grown out in their usual dark brown. 

After changing Natalie’s sheets, Stephanie knocked on the bathroom door and slowly pushed it open. Natalie turned towards Stephanie’s smiling face. A small, childish part of Natalie had begun to wonder if Stephanie’s face had simply got stuck in the neutral smile, that perhaps if you forced a smile long enough it would never leave. Stephanie’s smile did not change, but her eyes were soft and her shoulders held a concerned tension. She reached out and touched Natalie's arm, rubbing soothingly,  
“Hey, I’m just warming up some leftovers. We’ll put on some shit tv and take the afternoon off, yeah?” It sounded preferable to being left to her own thoughts, but it felt too familiar. The set of Stephanie’s jaw, her soft touches, it was the thing you would expect of a mother to her child. Loving and concerned, firm enough to steady you but never intended to hurt. God, Natalie wanted this. She wanted to curl up in Stephanie’s arms, to tell her about Julie, about every anxious thought racing through her mind. It wasn’t fair. Whatever higher power gave her this taste, knowing it would be ripped away from her were playing some sick, twisted game.

It was then that the final straw was pulled and Natalie fell to the tile floor sobbing. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she gasped between every wrenching cry. Stephanie was there in seconds, wrapping her arms firmly around Natalie’s small frame and rocking her side to side. It wasn’t fucking fair. She hurt so much, her heart hurt and life was cruel and she just wanted everything to stop. “Please,” she blubbered, “please, please, please.”   
Stephanie shushed her, whispering “I know, it's okay, you’re safe, I’ve got you,” as if any of that was true. As if any of it would help. Why couldn’t Natalie have saved Julie? She could have done more. What sick kind of joke was the world playing at? Why was she so angry, so tired, so in pain? Stop it.   
“Stop.” Stop. Please, “please stop. It hurts.” It hurts so much, “God please, please save me,” why did you not spare her?   
“I know, it’s okay Natalie. I promise you’ll be alright. You’re not going anywhere. You’re safe and loved,” loved? She could not be loved, she - “you’re staying right here where I can look after you.” 

It took two hours for Natalie to completely calm down and in that time she had thrown up a few times. Now she lay against the wall with a pounding headache as Stephanie forced her to gulp down a glass of water. She looked pale but kept her neutral smile plastered over her lips, supporting the back of Natalie’s head with one slightly shaky hand. Natalie did not speak, she let herself be led down stairs, wrapped in clean blankets and sat in front of the television. She felt numb. 

That was a lie. She felt a lot of things, but mostly tired and drained. She forced herself to eat mechanically, barley chewing before quickly swallowing. She ignored every pain in her aching body, the scratchiness in her throat, the blurriness in her vision. She wanted to sleep and never wake up, or at least hibernate for the next eighty years undisturbed. She curled up on her side, finally letting waves of exhaustion slam her unconscious.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mental Health in the All For the Game Series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830306) by [frog2522](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frog2522/pseuds/frog2522)




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